What Didn't Happen
by AlwaysSharp
Summary: There are thousands of stories about Justin losing his memories. But what if the problem was what he remembered?


_---_

Sun sneaks in through the cracks in the blinds in the window. Dazed, Justin's cerulean eyes flicker open, adjusting to the blazing lights above him.

Suddenly there is a pretend-concerned voice invading his little world. "Mister Taylor?"

Justin struggles to sit up and look around. He sees white walls, white sheets, white floors… a man standing over him wearing a white coat… of course. He's in a hospital. But why?

"Yeah?" the teenager rasps, trying and failing to prop himself up on his elbows. When it doesn't work, he allows himself to sink back down onto the mattress, as shabby and uncomfortable as it is.

"You're in Allegheny General Hospital," the man informs him bluntly. "You suffered an injury to the head."

What?

Justin casts back in his memories for any recollection of that. No, he doesn't remember a head injury – at least, not a recent one. His last head injury was at the prom, with…

"Where's Brian?" Justin asks sharply.

The man tilts his head. "Sir, I don't – "

"Brian," Justin repeats. "Brian Kinney. My lover, my life partner… where is he?" Suddenly a horrible thought strikes him. Deeply concerned, Justin demands, "Is he hurt too?"

The nurse looks alarmed. "Sir, the only person here for you is a Miss Daphne Chanders," he says slowly. "She says that your injury came about when she drove you somewhere last night and you hit your head on a streetlight."

This is too much. Justin doesn't know what's going on. "I don't remember that," he says, his voice trembling. "Please, can you call Brian?" He rattles off Brian's phone number and reaches into his pocket for his phone. Sure enough, he has no pockets; outfitted in only a hospital gown and (presumably) underwear, Justin doesn't have his phone. "Okay, well, I don't have my phone, but I'm sure you have one, right?"

"Sir, if you'd like, I could call a doctor…"

"Call Brian!" Justin screams. Why can't this idiotic nurse see what's going on? Why can't he see how important this is to him? "Brian fucking Kinney!"

A passing nurse pokes his head into the room. "Brian Kinney?" he asks. "Oh, I know him. He's upstairs. Fourth floor."

"He is?" Suddenly Justin brightens. Even if Brian was isn't right there in the waiting room, at least he's here. At least he _cares_ – what, is he bringing Justin food or something?

The nurse smiles, glad to be of help. "Yes. Would you like me to bring him down from the ward?"

Justin nods. "Please," he says. Then – "Wait. _Ward_? What's on the fourth floor?"

Promptly, the nurse replies, "Maternity."

_Maternity_? But Melanie already had her kid. Jenny Rebecca. And that was almost a year ago, wasn't it? Unless something happened that Justin can't remember… Lindsay? No, Lindsay never… not since Gus…

"I'll bring him down for you," the nurse says hastily, and hurries away.

"Wait!" Justin exclaims. "Wait. Um… who's the mother? In maternity?"

The nurse looks bewildered. "I don't know," he says. "I just passed into Brian in the hallway…"

"Okay," Justin says resignedly. He'll just ask Brian, he decides. "Okay. Just please go get Brian?"

Nodding, the nurse leaves. This leaves Justin alone with the other nurse, the one in whose care Justin has apparently been placed. "Sir?" says the nurse hesitantly, as though afraid of provoking Justin's temper again. "This is a standard question for all those with head injuries – could you please tell me what year it is?"

Promptly, Justin replies, "2005."

The nurse looks shocked. "Um… no, sir, that's incorrect. It's actually 2000. Can you tell me the major news event you remember? Actually – this Miss Chanders who's here with you, I'll go get her. Okay?"

Justin nods. As the nurse exits, he tries to make sense of this. 2000? But that was five years ago. That was when he met Brian, when he had his prom… wait! What if… could he possibly have hurt his head so badly at prom that he's been out since then? But no, that would explain having forgotten things, not remembered new things…

Suddenly Daphne is in the doorway. But… she looks younger. Her hair is still long and stringy, the way it was… in high school.

"Justin?" she asks nervously, taking a few steps closer to her friend. "Hi." 

"Daph," Justin murmurs, fiddling with the dials on the side of the bed, trying to make it lean forward. Daphne sits down on the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers around each other.

The nurse gestures at Daphne, and she nervously asks, "Jus, what's the last thing you remember?" 

Justin casts back in his memories. "His proposal," he says, an utterly enchanted look coming across his face. "After the bombing, Brian came back – "

"Brian!" Daphne exclaims, as though drawing a single familiar word out of a string of other foreign ones. "Justin met this guy," she tells the nurse. "And he went home with him and they, uh… well, you know." The nurse nods. "Then he came back to school and talked about how great it was. And that night, he begged me to drive him to Brian's house to see him again. Only he walked into a streetlight. And… that's how we ended up here."

The nurse nods. "Okay. I'd better go get a doctor," he says, and disappears through the doorway.

Justin doesn't understand. "Daph… what are you talking about?" he asks. "That was years ago. And I never hit my head."

Suddenly it's clear to him. Maybe he _did _hit his head. Maybe he did, and then – maybe he passed out. And Daphne drove him to the hospital, but it was too late, because – because he was already out of it. And while he was unconscious, he dreamed… and came up with a whole new alternate reality.

---

That's what the doctor says, too, but halfway through the explanation, a face appears in the doorway and Justin suddenly can't breathe.

It's Brian.

_It's Brian_.

"Brian!" he screams.

Daphne makes a face. She evidently is none too impressed with this man.

But Brian looks different, same as Daphne. He looks younger. And he looks high.

He looks… the way he did that night. The night Gus was born. And the way he did that morning, when he was just getting over the effects of the zillions of drugs he took.

Justin doesn't know this Brian. Well, he _did_, back when this Brian was _the _Brian. But now he doesn't. Now he wants to see warmth behind the beautiful dark eyes he knows so well. He wants to see all those signs that remind Justin that Brian loves him.

But all he sees is confusion. Brian wants to know why he's here. So Justin decides to play along with what Daphne is saying.

The last thing Brian should remember of Justin is saying goodbye to him. Only it wasn't goodbye like when Justin left for New York – it's goodbye like, _You can see me in your dreams_.

"Hi," Justin says, suddenly having no trouble sitting up.

"Uh… hi," Brian says. Then recognition dawns on his perfect face – perfect to Justin, anyway – and he says, "You're that trick. Justin."

Justin's eyes flash. He can't bear to be called a _trick_. "I named your kid, asshole," he sneers. "And if you'll recall, I was more than a trick even the first time."

"The _first _time?" Brian repeats. "There was only one time, kid."

It doesn't seem to occur to either of them that they're having this conversation in the presence of a nurse, a doctor, and a very confused teenage girl.

It is said teenage girl who takes a step forward. "Uh, Brian?" she asks, stepping in front of Justin's bed to act as a barrier between the two. "Can I talk to you outside for a second?"

"I don't know you," Brian points out.

"Just outside the room," Daphne says. "I don't know you either."

The doctor follows them out. Justin squirms on the bed, clearly in need of company of at least someone he knows… someone he remembers.

At last, he turns on his side and faces the nurse. "Call this number," he says, rattling off a string of numbers to the nurse. "Say Justin's in the hospital."

As the nurse fumbles with his phone to comply, he inquires, "And who exactly am I calling?"

Justin sighs deeply. He never thought he'd be asking _her _for help, of all people. But he only knows one person who believes in weird shit like this, and who would listen to his almost-happily-ever-after story of what he guesses is now nothing more than a dream. "Molly Taylor," he grumbles.


End file.
